


I Miss You (So Far)

by ImposterBeenFostered



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Based on a My Chemical Romance Song, Drinking, Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, I mean- kinda, Light Angst, M/M, Smoking, duh - Freeform, happy Valentine’s Day lads, it’s Mickey Milkovich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 21:49:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17774834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImposterBeenFostered/pseuds/ImposterBeenFostered
Summary: With 999 down, and one left to go, Mickey visits Ian.(Based on ‘Cemetery Drive’ by My Chemical Romance)





	I Miss You (So Far)

**Author's Note:**

> As you may possibly be able to tell from this piece of shit you are likely about to read (considering you are miraculously reading this), this is my first piece of writing. Well, that is finished and gets to see the light of day. It isn't good, not by a long shot, but everyone has to start somewhere.
> 
> I am actually somewhat happy with this, and I really wanted to write something, so what better than a Gallavich fan fiction based on a My Chemical Romance song? 
> 
> Nothing, nothing at all.
> 
> So, with that said, heed my warning. This is very amateur writing. If you wish to proceed, well, you know what to do.
> 
> Beware my guy.

The snow fell lightly over the already white grounds as Mickey stumbled past the cemetery gates.

   "Ian!" He cried, voice cracking, "Hey, man, I got news!"

Very good news. In fact, Mickey had already began to celebrate. He thought better about continuing to get wasted alone, though, when he realized he should share this with Ian.

The headstones he used for support were dusted with snow, but the mausoleum where he usually found Ian was protected by the arch above it.

Mickey sat heavily on the landing, cracked open a beer from the twelve pack he'd brought (he usually only brought a six pack, but today was special), and began to share his news with Ian.

   "You will _never_ believe what I've got for you tonight, Ian."

   "Just one left! One, and I'll be able to see you again, for real," He laughed breathlessly. After all this time, he was nearly done.

   "Only one, Mickey?"

Mickey opened his eyes, he hadn't noticed he'd closed them, and looked over at him, a grin splitting his face.

   "One, man, and I'll have it done before the fuckin' sun sets tomorrow."

Ian smiled and sat down on the step just below the landing. The snow drifted from the sky to fall on him, standing stark against his dull suit and fiery hair.

Ian was dressing in _that_ _suit_. His last suit. The one suit that Mickey utterly loathed. It was a plain tuxedo, black blazer, black trouser, black tie, silver cufflinks and a white button up.

It was probably the nicest thing Ian had worn, and he wasn't even there to appreciate it.

How ironic.

The suit may have been banal, but Ian was anything but. Under the pale moonlight, his eyes shone a viridescent color that Mickey was sure could see into his very own soul. His hair was brighter than ever and his freckles stood sharp against his skin.

Mickey reached into the pack he'd brought, and pulled out a can, handing it over to Ian.

   "Old Style?"

Ian reached his hand out and took the offered can.

   "You know it."

They sat in silence for awhile, or maybe it was a few minutes, hours, Mickey didn't know. Time passed differently here, with Ian.

The silence was broken when Ian asked, "Why'd you do this for me?"

Mickey would be a liar if he said he wasn't confused. Was it not obvious why he had done what he had?

   "Because I need you. Here. With me," He remembered a time when that would have been unquestionably difficult for him to say, but murder has really worked to open him up.

   "You don't feel bad?" Questioned Ian.

Mickey didn't know why he was pissed; it was as if someone had lit a fire in his chest, but it only flickered for a moment before he stifled it out. He didn't want to fight, not tonight.

   "They weren't good people, Ian, He didn't want good people."

He told himself that often, because no matter how much he rationalized that this was for Ian, that one thousand evildoers off this earth wouldn't make any impact compared to the dent left by Ian Gallagher's departure, which he knew with all his heart was truer than true, he couldn't shake that scintilla of guilt.

Ian looked at him knowingly, but all he said was, "Thank you."

   "You better," Mickey tried to joke, and it somehow worked.

Ian chuckled, taking a swig of his beer and pulled out a little metal case.

   "The hell is that that?" Mickey questions as he leans back on his elbows.

Ian opens the small case, and pulls out a white cigarette with a gold line where the filter starts.

   "Cigarette," he says, holding it in his mouth and striking a match.

Mickey rolls his eyes, "Well, no shit. I can see it now, asshole."

Ian laughs a small laugh, and lets the smoke escape through his nose. He passes the cigarette over to Mickey.

   "Where'd you get that shit? If I didn't know better, I'd say you just stepped out of a 1930's movie."

Ian shrugged and said, "Maybe it's the suit."

_What the fuck?_

   "Sure, man. I just didn't know you were that good of a pickpocket."

He smirks at Mickey, but drops it quickly, opting to make a grabbing motion for the cigarette instead.

Mickey passes it over to Ian, (not after a long drag, though) and lays down on the cool marble.

   "Who's do you think this is, anyway?" He wonders aloud, referring to the mausoleum.

Ian leans forward and looks up at the arch above them.

  "Uhm... Lowe."

Mickey gives him a _no fucking shit_ look.

He sits up and says, "Yes I know _that_ , but _who_ was he, dumbass."

   "I don't fuckin' know Mick," Ian shrugs, "Some guy who had a shit ton of money so his family buried him in a building."

   "Soundin' kinda jealous there, Fire-crotch, you wanted to get buried in a building?"

Ian gives him a pseudo contemplative look.

   "No, I'm content with the dirt," He concludes, leaning in close to Mickey. Close enough that he should have been able to feel his breath. He didn't. It was strange. "But I really would liked to have been burned."

He laughed and held up a fist, as if he was going to hit him. Ian leaned back, hands up in surrender.

Mickey swallowed the last dregs of his beer, chucked the can out into the snow, and pulled out a new one.

   "Do you know who lucky number one thousand is, Mick?"

Mickey shakes his head.

   "Naw, I gotta talk to Him first, ask Him where the closest shithead is."

Mickey hoped he didn't have to go far to find the fucker, he wanted to be right here when Ian came back. The first face he saw.

Ian leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and letting his can dangle haphazardly in his fingers.

After a few beats, he spoke. "I miss you."

It was hardly a whisper, and Mickey scarcely heard it.

   "I miss ya too, man. So far," he said honestly, and his heart clenched in his chest.

But they we're together now, and after tomorrow, they wouldn't have to miss one another any longer.

Mickey laid down on the hard marble of the landing again. The arch of the mausoleum cut off the sky, but Mickey could still see the stars. This far out, away from the lights of the city, they were crystal clear.

He look to his left. Ian was still there, elbows on his knees and can hanging in his fingers, looking out over the snow covered headstones.

He turned his head, as if he could feel Mickey's gaze, and let a small grin brush his face. He turned back to the graves, snow covered body illuminated by the moon, hair a fiery red even in the pale light.

Mickey let his head rest back on the mausoleum, and, with Ian by his side, slowly drifted off.

He hears a click, then the strike of a match, and a soft crackling sound.


End file.
